


Trust your instincts

by Izwedgw8



Category: Throne of Glass Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst and Feels, Blood and Injury, F/M, Fear, Healing, Hope, Love, care
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2019-10-02 09:58:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17262164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Izwedgw8/pseuds/Izwedgw8
Summary: Unusually, Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius awakes before first light. Although his mate is beside him he can’t quite let go of the suspicion that something isn’t right. It’s a battle of time to save her, to save them, because if her flame is extinguished he won’t survive alone in the dark.Short story. Set a couple years after the end of the series. I make myself cringe at my summaries :)





	1. Awake

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own any characters from ToG. 
> 
> This was a very inspired in the moment story. Let me know what you think. I hope to continue it because I like happy endings but I work chapter by chapter. Enjoy!

Chapter 1

At first he couldn’t pin point what had awoken him. All was quiet, as far as he could tell from his drowsy state, and the morning light had not yet pierced the flowing curtains covering the large window in their room. Even so, hundreds of years of training and fighting had taught him to trust his instincts and he remained on edge. Rising slightly up onto his forearm, Prince Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius gaze toward his slumbering mate. Usually when he awoke before first light it was due to a nightmare (either hers or his); yet, she seemed peaceful. He, certainly, had not had one this night – a blessing considering the scars they all still carried from the war. To prevent being swallowed back into painful memories, he scanned the room again -nothing had been disturbed- and refocused his mind to the present. To her. Even whilst she was sleeping, he couldn’t help but be in awe of her. The fiery glow of her soul shone through the rich tones of her skin, giving her an aura of strength, despite her narrow frame. A testament to her royalty. A testament to the strength and bravery she had displayed protecting her people since childhood. To him, she could not be more beautiful.

A small smile blossomed on his lips as he recalled his first encounter with her in Varese. Truly, they had despised each other. Both dragged too deep in their guilt to notice the similarities between their pain. How she had reeked of stale alcohol had almost had him turning away from the assignment before it had even begun, never mind enduring the charming vocabulary she possessed. Nevertheless, they had made it. Screamed and cursed and fought and killed and grieved, but they had made it back to the light. Now he had what had seemed so impossible for so long. He had her. And soon he would have them, for she was with child. Whilst not necessarily unexpected, the day he had first scented the change had shocked him. Aelin, believing herself to simply have caught one of the many virus which circulated court throughout the bitter winter, had been overjoyed when he had revealed the true cause of her nausea. In fact, he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her so openly emotional. Possibly the biggest relief was that it had occurred after his visit to his mountain home and Lyria’s grave. He hadn’t realised how desperately he need the closure and his own forgiveness. It had purged him. He could now continue this second life free of the demons which had long plagued him from the first.

It may have been the thought of his lost child with Lyria, or perhaps the lingering unease of waking up in the night for no obvious reason, but Rowan felt a strong, primal urge to touch his love’s prominent stomach. Carefully, he eased himself across the mattress towards her, determined not to disturb her sleep with his actions, and placed his hand above her womb. Her skin, despite being pulled taught, was soft. The hard muscle beneath protecting the precious life which had begun to stir within. 

A sensation of dampness from near his calf drew Rowan away from his fantasies. He began to dismiss the idea rationally, it was simply that the mattress was cooler there because it had not been laid on for several hours. Still, it was odd. Sliding the hand which had been resting upon Aelin’s womb down to his leg he felt the sheet. Definitely wet. She may have accidentally wet the bed in her sleep, he thought. Being pregnant had certainly effected the length of council meetings due to her near constant need to relieve herself. However, it was very, very unlike Aelin to compromise her fashionable (and expensive) bed spread because she did not want to get out of bed to go to the toilet. He pulled his hand up from under the sheets and froze.

Blood. That was blood smeared across his finger tips. Aelin’s blood. Finally released from the confinement of the heavy duvet, its metallic tang assaulted his nostrils. Trembling slightly, he pulled back the covers to find the source and gagged. Spreading from between her legs to her knees Aelin’s once-silver night dress was crimson. It was a colour so close to that of her flames he could almost imagine it was the fire draining from her heart. All of a sudden, her body was replaced with the mutilated corpse of Lyria. Another child he’d lost. Proof he wasn’t worthy of being a father. Stupid of him to think that he could ever deserve an heir. Horrified and panicking the Prince reached his hand up to try and rub his eyes to clear the vision, forgetting that his fingers were already stained with the blood. Luckily he stopped, being reminded of it once his hand came into focus in front of his face. All he could see was red and the smell of it was choking him. He gasp trying to find any clean air. Anything that wasn’t poisoned by the scent of blood and death.

 _I am Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius I am Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius I am Rowan Whitehorn Galathynius_.

The mantra repeated over and over again as he tried to regain control. In the dark hours after he’d had a particularly bad nightmare she had shared her trick with him. A way to find yourself amidst horror. Aelin. He berated himself for being taken in by the shock and fear so acutely that he hadn’t properly checked the rest of her. Still breathing. Good. Very good. No wounds or other sources from which the blood may have come. He supposed this was good too, despite the subsequent conclusion that the blood must have all come from whatever the hell had happened in the womb. He shook her.

_Aelin…Fire heart… I need you to wake up… Fire heart wake up…Aelin… Aelin… Please open your eyes…. Look at me… Fire heart… wake up…_

But she did not.

_Gods…Gods Aelin please…_

His voice broke. There were no gods left to answer his prayers. Even if they hadn’t been banished they’d wanted to take her from him. If only his magic was healing instead of ice and wind. Healers. He needed healers. Faster than even his cadre would have believed Rowan was through their suite to the guarded outer door which connected the royal chambers to the rest of the castle. The guards, obviously startled by the sudden appearance of their Queen’s consort’s panicked face, were immediately alert. “ _Fetch the Queen’s healers now. Tell no one else we have need of them_ ” The Prince commanded, noting the way their faces paled at his order. “ _Quickly go!_ ”.

Tactfully, Rowan kept his hands behind the door so as not to alarm them too much. The fear prompted by them seeing the Queen’s blood on him would not help anyone. They could already tell it was an urgent request. Arguably, the only thing worse than Aelin being ill were the rumours which inflated and twisted her condition, frightening those who cared for her even more. Shifting would have been the most inconspicuous way. He had debated flying in his hawk form out the window directly to the healers halls, but that would have meant leaving her alone. Something he was not prepared to do. He would put aside his territorial instincts enough to allow the healers to tend to her, but there was no way that he was going to let her out of his sight.

Leaving the door unlocked he sprinted back to the bedroom and gathered everything he could think to need. He cleared the area surrounding her of everything except the fresh towels and water he had grabbed on the way back. He checked her over as best he could again. Still breathing. Good. Unresponsive. Not so good. He felt for the mating bond. Still their but dampened by whatever recuperative state her body had gone into to try and deal with the pregnancy trauma. Much better than when she’d been trapped in that hell of an iron box with Maeve, but still not as it should be.

_Where are they?_

Knowing it can’t have been more than a couple of minutes, but feeling as if it had been the best part of a week, Rowan listened intently for the approaching footsteps of a healer. A gentle knock at the door sent him jerking upright. “ _Yes enter”_ he quickly replied, fully anticipating the entrance of the head healer, Pamela. Instead, it was the lion who padded through the doorway. A vicious snarl tore from Roman’s throat towards the other male. He could not have him here. Not whilst his female, his mate was injured. The lion bowed his head and raised his hands in submission, enough to show the male that he posed no threat. He did not, however, progress further into the room.

“ _I heard the guards running for the healers. Let me help Rowan. What has happened?_ ” Gavriel spoke softly but even so his voice was laced with concern. After a few seconds of staring him down and taking a deep breath Rowan stepped to the side to reveal Aelin unconscious, half covered in blood, on the bed.


	2. Shock

The lion blinked. It was all the emotion he would reveal to his friend. The only thing he could do as he processed the sight before him.

“Where is Yrene?” He managed to utter once his mind had caught up with the shock.

When Rowan didn’t answer immediately Gavriel pressed on. “I can heal battle wounds Rowan but I will never claim to be as good, especially when it concerns theinner workings of the female anatomy, as her. We need Yrene.”

“In Rifthold with Chaol and Dorian.” 

“I’ll get Vaughn to fly there with a message to come immediately.” Sensing his discomfort at involving yet more of the court Gavriel continued reassuringly.“You would be the fastest Rowan, but I know you won’t leave her side and I would never ask you to. Trust us. We want to help.” 

Receiving a small nod, the lion shifted and ran from the room. 

Now alone again, Rowan didn’t even try to hide his anxiety. Sitting as close as he dared to her he focused inward on their bond. It shimmer and glowed at his attention, exuding the comforting warmth of an ember within his core. Although it could not be seen, he felt its image. A spiralling double helix. The ice blue of his wind bound to her golden flame. No matter how long he gazed at it he could never identify the point where one moulded into the other. He could easily become hypnotised by the gentle coil flowing eternally between them. It reminded him of the wind chime he’d received as a birthday gift a few years ago. It would revolve with reassuring continuity. This calmed him slightly. Rowan sent a tickling spark of magic down the bond. No reply. He tried again, stoking the flames, teasing them to play with him and he could have sworn that heat flared faintly in response, if only for a moment.

There was a disturbance in the air behind him and he opened his eyes.

The healers. Thank Mala! 

Sure enough, the head healer appeared a second later. Her bushy, auburn hair scraped back into its conventional bun, despite the early hour. Her two apprentices following swiftly behind her. Ever the professional, she gave no hint of horror as she beheld her Queen. A few stern instructions later and the apprentices were gone to fetch whatever she needed. A soft light shrouded her fingertips before it entered Aelin’s chest and was gone. He knew with any other patient they would have kicked family out of the room immediately. But Rowan had seen many wounds, he’d caused a great deal too and the one time they did request it well... he almost chuckled at the memory… almost. They’d learnt soon enough that unless one possessed the combined strength and stubbornness of Fenrys, Gavriel, Aedion and Lorcan the likelihood of removing Prince Rowan from his mate was none. Thankfully, like Yrene, Pamela had a natural instinct for reading people and didn’t let it get that far. It was one of the reason he respected her. She wouldn’t take any ridicule or nonsense in her ward, but she wouldn’t give anything less than her complete focus and ability either. 

It was agony sitting beside them. Being useless. As much as he tried not to he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d seen her smile for the last time. If those magnetic Ashryver eyes of purest turquoise rimmed with gold would never open again. He’d take a scolding from her viper tongue in a heartbeat see them now. 

No. Thinking that way would not help anyone. If she needed him he had to be here for her. Fully here. Not half lost in grief for an event which hadn’t happened yet – which wouldn’t happen. Gods he hated how useless he felt. What use was centuries worth of training and fighting if he could not protect what was most important? What IS most important? 

He felt an urge to run to the window, fling it open and escape. Perhaps if he wasn’t here, if he wasn’t seeing it then it wasn’t happening. It was the same feeling that had had him soaring away after the Beltane celebrations at Mistward, when he had first seen the mutilated flesh of her back. That patchwork of pain and misery had thrown him so off balance as he realised how cruelly Maeve had deceived him. Maeve had known how bitter he still was and he could be certain that she had smirked in amusement at the knowledge of the punishing training programme he would expose Aelin to. Yes, Maeve would have found pleasure in the pain he caused Aelin out of his own self-loathing and spite, just as the Valg bitch found pleasure in Aelin’s torture and incarceration several months later.

How had he not noticed? Why had he not woken up earlier? Everything had been normal when they had retired for the night, hadn’t it? Damn the heavy quilt for concealing the scent of the blood from him. Damn him for accepting that extra drink after their evening meal which may have sent him into a deeper sleep than normal. Damn Fenrys for having offered it. If he lost them because of it…

A firm grip on his shoulder retrieved him from his thoughts, but he did not move his gaze from Aelin. Gavriel had returned. “He’s gone and I’ve rescheduled all the meetings which you were supposed to attended for the next three days as a precaution. Don’t worry, I didn’t give details on why. We’ll need a way to keep Aedion preoccupied when he finds out anyway.”

“Thank you.” The monotonous reply was hardly flattering but he knew Gavriel would understand. 

“Do you want me to stay brother?” The heavy following silence was an answer in itself. “Call me for any change and when Pamela’s powers are drained I’ll take over.” The nod of reply was both dismissive and affirmative. Rowan knew he would shift and stand guard at the door. Far enough away that he would not be mistaken as a threat by the high-strung male, but close enough for support or extra help should the need arise. 

A grey light began to filter through from under the heavy curtains which covered the glass doors to the royal garden. Another cold day was dawning.


	3. The spite of time and pain of feeling

Another cold day was dawning.

More times than not, those who’d judged him after a first meeting, he knew, had come away describing the Prince as cold, intimidating or brooding. Whether it was a result of his physical presence or his less than friendly default demeanour, he couldn’t always tell. Certainly, his reputation as one of the continents finest warriors (second possibly to only Lorcan) put his clientele on edge. He could empathise at least as far as knowing what it felt like when the person opposite him was more likely to snap his neck than give him a smile. 

Under Maeve this callous exterior had been his salvation. A safe armour to protect himself from the consequences of his orders. Better to know himself, but have others fear him, than to have others know him and be dead. Much better. 

Or so he’d always thought. 

However, with Aelin, he felt himself gradually removing his armour. Piece by piece he had let her in and let himself out. With her, he was just as likely to confess or comfort as scold or scorn. That was not to say he had slacked off on any of his duties. Just that he had allowed himself to slip into a wary sense of safety. Well, this incident – he hadn’t come to terms with what had happened last night to name it or comprehend it properly – had certainly highlighted how dangerous supposed safety could be. 

He cursed the spite of time. All the pleasant days, the laughter in a tavern, the jokes of the court, the tranquility of a private evening by the fire, had a habit of converging upon themselves. They muddled and overlapped as if they were trying to cram themselves all into the same memory - as if they didn’t deserve to make up the majority of his life nowadays. Spiteful time condensed them down to intermittent flickers, sporadically interrupting the memories of his journey. Yes, centre stage had certainly been reserved for the horrors. In his opinion, Time dragged and took glee in pain. Despite the adrenaline rush of a battle, the timeline of several hours of war could be identified through the drawn out moments when good males, many that he’d trained, were brutally struck down beside him. He knew he wasn’t the only one who was targeted by time this way. He’d tattooed Gavriel often enough to be reminded of it. 

Borrowed time. That’s what Aelin had accepted. The mortality of her immortality. The injustice of it.

Movement from across the bed drew his attention. 

A slightly ashen faced Pamela met his gaze, the light from her hands fading as she coiled the remanences of her power within herself. 

“She’s stable Prince. The child appears unharmed but I cannot be certain at the present time as we still don’t know what has caused the Queen’s body to react in such a way. I will go and get some ointments which should soothe them both.” The healer bowed and made a swift exit. 

Rowan could tell that she was weary from the healing, but he didn’t have it in him to care as long as she had enough magic left to tend to Aelin. The news had done little to calm him, but he’d take everything and anything he could get it if meant she was closer to waking up and further from fading. He watched her chest rise and fall with each breath as he tried to reassure himself that there was still hope. Still a strong chance that they would all come out the other side. He wouldn’t allow it to go any other way. Resolved, he shifted and resigned himself to perch on the headboard of the bed. 

Light began to filter more confidently through the curtains as the sun kept rising.

It was odd, he supposed, how it could feel so natural to be in two so completely different forms. 

The hawk, so detached and calculating. The perceptive predator sees and hears even more accurately than his Fae, but, crucially, does not have the same capacity to feel. Aelin often complain of the 'pissing contests' brought about by 'territorial bullshit', but it did nothing to change the fact that one of the things he prized most of all was their bond. His undeniable claim to her. To show her off to the world as his. His wife. His Queen. His mate. They had found each other in the darkness and forged themselves a new in defiance of Maeve and Adarlan and Erawan and every other sod who had given up on this world - even the Gods. They had roared their defiance with such strength that none could question their devotion - to each other or the new world they would build together. 

And yes, feeling had caused pain. He had seen her scars, had held her while she weeped or screamed or was simply so withdrawn he wasn’t sure if she was aware of her surroundings, of him holding her. He'd had to repress his feelings for her for fear of Meave using him as a manipulative weapon against her. But, it was also what had let them know they were alive. It was what separated them from the valg - who could not feel as they did or love as they did. It was what bound together their court and their allies across the seas. And in the end, it meant they had won. Always together. Ever since the glass cattle had shattered they had sworn it. Together. So for her to be close to leaving him now... the male couldn't bear it. So he chose the hawk.


	4. Crossing the line

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Sorry it's been a while. Luckily I was on a four hour plane journey which finally gave me time to focus and write more for this story. I've branched out a bit to some of our other favourite members of Aelin's court (not to worry though there's still a lot of Rowan). Enjoy and please comment letting me know what you think x

The hawk was restless. It hadn’t eaten or slept or flown for two days.

The court was restless. They hadn’t seen their Queen for almost three days. 

Aedion was near berserk. His cousin was in an unspecified state of illness and locked in her chambers with an incredibly overbearing and protective fae warrior and a squadron of stern healers. All of which meant, he hadn’t been allowed to see her. His nerves and patience were fraying. No, to hell with that, they were dismembered and shredded - much like the practise dummies he’d been attacking all afternoon to try and relive some of the vicious anxiety currently coursing through him. It was just typical, he thought to himself, that the time you want to use your legendary wolf of the north skills to see your dearest family member happens to be when you find yourself pitted against three of the strongest fae males in history. Honestly, what was the point?! Even if he made it past her guard puppies, by somehow tricking either Fenrys or Gavriel to leave their post outside her door so he could attempt to overpower the other one, there was no way he would face the wrath of Rowan and live to tell the tale. With that bitter thought, he snatched up the nearest spear and threw it so hard that the tip could be seen protruding out of the back of the target and the satisfying crunch of wood splitting met his ears.

Lysandra was completely fed up with her best friend ‘pulling a sicky’. Having just concluded a meeting with some of the lesser lords (which had taken far too long and been far too dull) and having been deprived of sleep by Aedion’s restless fidgeting, she was bloody pissed off at her too. Yes, yes, she also was terribly worried about Aelin. She dearly missed her gossip and jokes in court; but right now, frustration was taking pole position. If she thought she could get away with it she might try to shift into an insect and creep under the door to see for herself what was going on. Unfortunately, fae possessed an uncanny sense of smell and she didn’t quite have the nerve to fight Rowan right next to Aelin’s sick bed. A bedside brawl would be a tad rude, not to mention dangerous for the patient on the sidelines. Perhaps finding Evangeline would help to cheer her up. She loved the girl with all her heart and if the combination of her ward and the dog which followed her was enough to make Darrow’s heart melt, then it would undoubtedly do   
Lysandra good too.

Fenrys would be lying if he said he wasn’t somewhat relieved to see Gavriel return to guard duty outside Aelin’s bedroom door. His hind legs had gone rather stiff from the length of time he’d been sat, motionless on the hard stone titles. While the stone floor was covered by a beautiful rug, it was clear the Queen’s priority on purchasing it had been the elaborate stitching, not how comfortable it would be to protect one’s noble backside from going numb on unwieldy stone flooring. So, with less than his usual grace, Fenrys rose and allowed the wolf to stretch, encouraging the blood flow to return to normal. Once accomplished, he trotted lightly to the end of the corridor and paused at the open window. He needed some clean air. 

While he understood that it had been a trying few days for the whole court, he felt somewhat isolated in his suffering. The bond he and Aelin had formed during her time with Maeve and Cairn was incredibly personal and bound by experience. It wasn’t something he could share or explain to the others. Of course they could empathise to some degree, being on a battle field in command of a group of warriors gave you a tether of responsibility to each fae; but it was not enough. The value of one caring look in a world of torture could not be determined by any currency. To be so utterly helpless to prevent her suffering, but so closely tied to her resolve to keep living was a unique type of torture in itself. And being present for the actual torture sessions…. He still heard her screams in his nightmares and he couldn’t stomach the scent of her blood leaking under the door to the royal suite without the memories of Cairn's ministrations being dredged up. He took a deliberate, slow breathe of the crisp northern air coming through the window and thought of seeing those turquoise eyes gleam again.

The Queen's consort was as close to sleeping as he'd been for the past three days. That is to say, allowing himself to admit his eyelids were feeling heavier than normal, but still fully aware enough to slit the throat of anyone who entered the royal suite in under four seconds. Not the healers of course… although he'd been close at times. He knew they didn't deserve his anger but frankly he was too stressed to give a shit. It wasn't like they were strangers to dealing with the short-tempered, over-bearing, emotional baggage of friends and family which came with their patients. They would be paid enough to make up for it. Besides, with the way most of the citizens worshipped Aelin they would probably consider it too great an honour to serve her to be bothered by him. Actually, come to think of it, they ought to be returning shortly for the mid-afternoon check up. The bleeding had stopped over a day ago now. It was simply a matter of time to wait for Aelin's body to decide it had healed enough to bring her out of the trauma coma, or so they'd told him. Hurrying the process by forcing more foreign magic into her body only increased the risk of damaging the natural healing process. As of his thoughts had summoned her, one of the apprentices he recognised trotted through the door and began to work.

A sudden and sharp constriction on the mating bond had him gasping and shifting back to his fae form.

"What did you just do?" He weased, panicking.

The healer turned her head towards him confused. Upon seeing the sheen of sweat which had broken out across his brow, her eyebrows began to furrow. 

"I send a small, sweeping pulse of my healing magic to monitor the babe and her majesty's progression." 

"No. You changed something. I felt it. I felt pain."

After giving him a stern, if somewhat concerned look, she returned her attention to Aelin. Rowan watch as she placed her hands delicately over Aelin's abdomen and then -just as her palms started to glow with healing energy- another stabbing pain had him doubling over, clutching at his chest. The healer immediately withdrew and walked briskly to the door.

"Where are you going? What was that?!" Rowan demanded, but she ignored him completely and opened the door. Hearing the direct orders she gave Gavriel: to fetch Pamela as fast as possible, his stomach clenched. Before he could chicken out, he forced himself to ask "How bad?". Meeting the healer's eye did little to boost his confidence. 

"She's reacted to the magic defensively. Treating it as a harmful foreign body, rather than a positive energy. In itself, not uncommon or particularly dangerous but I thought it best to be on the safe side and get the head healer's opinion." Rowan nodded, allowing himself a breath to calm down. However, he quickly became distracted by the slight smell of burning. He whipped around and, sure enough, the bed sheets were smouldering. Shit. He lashed out with his magic to stop them from catching fire fully, but he didn't risk letting it touch Aelin. If healing magic had been interpreted as a threat, then he concluded attacking it with his wind might end up with the entire wing of the palace going up in flames. 

"Prince, soak some towels from the bathroom in cold water and bring them to the bed." If he'd been in a different situation the sudden order from the head healer, Pamela, whom he hadn't noticed enter the room would have shocked him. But, he had more pressing matters occupying his emotional capacity at the moment - such as his mate unconsciously attempting to burn down the bed she was lying on. He released a breathy laugh. She couldn't even be ill without being dramatic could she?! Mala help him. He took two strides toward the ensuite and stopped. The mating bond in his chest was growing taught. He struggled to imagine how much of Aelin's energy reserves her magical outburst was eating up. With her sickness, he was sure it could be a dangerously high percentage. He took one more step but had to stop again. The pain of it was growing exponentially with every inch he moved further away from his mate. It was as if he was caught at the end of a fishing line with the hook through his soul and swimming away from the rod was puncturing the hook in further. He could feeling the reel being wound in, pulling him to her. Imploring him to move closer to the bed. 

"I need those towels now Prince. We must bring down her temperature." Her words may as well have been called to a deaf man. He was totally engulfed in the screaming of his soul. It was unbearable. Yet, amongst the confusion and oppression of the pain, a primal part of him found clarity. He knew, his body just knew what he had to do.

"Now Prince!" Pamela's order partially filtered through to the soldier in him. The soldier had trained to follow orders. It's what had kept him alive during those chaotic battlefields for millennia. The soldier argued that following the expertise of his superiors now might mean a higher chance of saving her. But still…. that logical voice was faint in comparison to the primative urge roaring at him from within. To hell with training and healers - he followed the pull of his instincts. He used his teeth to gouge a deep line across his palm. It was enough that blood started to well in his cupped hand.

Seeing what he was doing Pamela cried out: "Prince no! She’s too unstable as it is. To try to use the caranam bond when one party is very unlikely to be able to manage that level of power is too dangerous. It’ll most likely end in both of you burning yourselves out. The kingdom needs at least one of you to walk out the other side of this. I know you hate to hear it but that is the truth. She would want you to look after her people. Her kingdom has always come first for her. You, more than anyone, know this.” 

And he did. He truly did. 

And yet he had already lost one mate. He had already had to chose between the kingdom and Aelin after the battle at the beach. He had chosen to search for her. He wasn’t about to go back on that choice or their vow to always conquer it all together.

Besides he didn’t want it. He’d never wanted to rule Terrasen if it wasn’t by her side. Aedion could happily take that responsibility from him. When it was time, millennia from now they were supposed to fade together. After all they’d suffered they had earned that right. 

Hadn’t they? 

So he ignored the head healer and sealed the blood connection.


	5. Drowning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go. I'm not completely happy with this one. I feel like it's too wordy and muddled but I was giving myself a headache trying to edit and re-edit it so I've decided to throw it out to you guys for help. On the plus side, I've written this and updated really quickly for me. Fingers crossed.
> 
> Small warning for hints of depression/despair and lots of angst

The moment the connection sealed the outside world disappeared and it was only them. Although they only used the carranam bond sparingly, he was so accustomed to the feel of her magic that the few times they had joined their powers it had felt familiar; intense, but familiar. He supposed it was a blessing that his own magic was so demanding. It meant that he’d learned to control and balance a weight of power similar to hers. Lesser fae would have been overwhelmed. That’s not to say that doubling their power through the bond with Aelin didn’t tested him; but he trusted her wholeheartedly. She knew the dangers of having a deep well of magic. Surprisingly, they had had to be more careful since her power had diminished after the war because of the inequality. Even so, their connection was normally so natural and in sync that it was as if they were only one soul inhabiting two bodies. That was usually though, today….

It was more like damming a river which had burst its banks. The intricate helix of the bond was frayed and leaking. It seemed her magic just didn't have the strength to latch on. Knowing that intrusive magic had been the cause of this relapse, Rowan was loath to force his magic to interfere. Instead, he sent out soothing burst of cool air, imploring her to recognise him and respond as a friend, a lover, a mate would. The small level of recognition he received was the mercy that she wasn't deliberately fighting against him. As the bond kept fracturing Rowan began to use his magic in more and more risky manoeuvres, desperate to heal what he could. It was draining. The effort of it soon had him sweating. He could feel his blood pressure rising as the thrumming of his pulse became more pronounced in his ears. His breathing was more ragged by the minute but regardless, he wouldn’t stop. He couldn’t stop for fear of what might happen if he did.

When he was mourning, after Lyria's death, his hawk had forced him to scrounge food at a market far to the east of Doranelle. It was a sandy settlement, with high clay walls and shady courtyards. In one of them, children had been playing behind the stone oven. He wasn’t sure what it was they were playing, but the running and shouting grew as it became more competitive. From their formation, he thought that there might have been three teams or alliances working against one another. An opal skinned boy received a stick from a younger girl and threw it at the wall. From the way the little girl beamed and leapt into a piggyback on the boy’s shoulders, Rowan assumed they had just won. He had enjoyed that moment: the unrestrained joy of the children as their effort had turn to victory. However, all too soon it became too painful to hear them laughing and see the life and energy in their bodies. It was too soon after the same liveliness had been ripped away from his own wife and child.

The hawk had drawn him to that particular spot because of the meat cooking on the stone oven. Having finished observing the children, he made a swift drive for one of the skewers roasting at the mouth of it. Talons in, feet up, fly out. Simple, fast, efficient. Or it should have been. Instead, one of the young boys spotted his approach and, no doubt to protect his own supper, had retaliated by launching a rock in his direction. Seeing his action, the other children quickly began to copy and Rowan had soon found himself weaving rapidly to avoid their fire. The bombardment had him using up energy he didn't have spare, but the hawk was starved so he persisted. He had eventually got the food, alongside a few bent feathers and small cuts courtesy of the rocks. They were not nearly the worst injuries he'd had. No; what had lingered with him - the reason he fathomed that the memory had resurfaced now - was the raw emotion he’d discovered within himself. It had hit him as he was flying in toward the food, when the rocks had become more frequent and more accurate and he’d had less and less time to react to avoid them. It was the desperation of a starved animal to eat despite being faced with a barrier of unempathetic creatures who were determined to see him fail. He was weak and exhausted, not to mention drowning in a whirlpool of depression and self-hatred, and in that moment - when one rock finally hit home, pushing his feathers dangerously close to the open flames - he realised how helpless he was. Starve and die. Burn and die. Be pummelled by rock and die. Give up and die. He had been one grain of sand facing a tsunami. And when that great wave had leered over him, smirking at his powerlessness, he’d almost laid down and let it win. 

Gazing inward at their bond, he saw the same thing. The dam had burst and here he was, one grain of sand, hoping to prevent the surging tide. The healer had said that this could claim both of them. Was this how he went? The legacy of Rowan Whitethorn - despairing and helpless. The thought alone made him want to throw up. If they did go, if they had finally found one problem that they couldn’t fix, couldn't outwit or out fight, could he handle it? Could he hold onto her for long enough to make sure they were together in the afterlife? Could he bear to face her in the afterlife having failed her like this? It was all too much. The tide of blood and stray magic kept coming. He caressed it and kissed it, hoping it would heal. He roared at it and pushed back at it, hoping it would retreat. Behind him, in another world, he heard muffled voices. Perhaps it was their families across the void, preparing to meet them. 

Finally … finally, when he began to feel the bottom of the well of his magic, he encouraged it to flow passed him. He saved the last of his strength to weave tendrils of himself into the river so that his essence would be bound to hers for eternity.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Prince Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius yielded his remaining power to his mate. As he allowed himself to be overcome by the energy of their fraying bond streaming past him, Rowan welcomed the light in the distance. The source appeared to come closer. It grew until the light became blinding and he was forced to shield his face. When it reached him, he felt it push through his body, forcing him backwards. The brute force of it startled him, but he was soon soothed by its calming and healing nature. In the distance, as he lost consciousness, he thought he heard a baby cry. It made him sad to think of one so vulnerable and innocent in pain. Maybe the light would reach it too and take it to a better world, where no one knew pain or suffering, loss or hopelessness. He and Aelin had tried to lay the foundations for that world. Maybe it would come to pass, maybe it wouldn’t. He didn't have long to dwell on it before he passed out.


	6. Adarlan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so this is a bit of a filler chapter. Still important, but the pace is a bit slower. I find writing dialogue tricky (especially when it's formal court stuff) so please be kind. As always I love to read your comments. Enjoy!

While Yrene always enjoyed visiting Dorian in Rifthold, the court wasn't her home and she'd be glad to return to the Torre and Westfall castle at the end of the week. She'd never been inclined toward those who practiced manipulation and selfishness. Maybe it was all her training as a healer, which taught her to be honest and kind, that meant she was just naturally against the miserly councillors. Dorian's new court, so she had been informed was nowhere near as self-serving as his father's had been. Still, she guessed that old habits die hard, especially when said habits concerned politics and power and nobility who liked to trace their ancestry back to before Brannon. As monarch, Dorian, naturally, was the focus of their attention to a much greater degree than she was and he managed to interact amiably with almost all of them. Plus, he didn't have the get out clause of living and working a couple of days ride away. It was remarkable how Dorian managed it and was still sane. Well, she supposed that the question of his sanity was where her and Chaol came in. They tried to visit regularly and sat politely through as many rants as His Royal Highness felt the need to subject them to. Once his skin had regained its normal parlour from the ruby red it would have turned during such a session, they would offer advice, or conduct more specific questioning to find a solution to whatever issue was causing the problem; or, they would simply agree that lord so and so was completely up his own backside and laugh their heads off while taking turns to do rather insulting impressions of them. Occasionally, as with this trip, Mannon would also be there. During the day, her iron teeth and nails certainly had their uses keeping the lords in line and at night she could help Dorian relieve his frustrations in a different manner. It an unconventional way, Yrene agreed that they were good for eachother.

That afternoon Yrene found herself sat at a rather dull and formal lunch when the guard tower bell began to toll - signalling a breach of the palace guard at the walls. Secretly, she found it quite an entertaining, and not altogether unwelcome, interruption. Indeed, Yrene had to suppress a snort as she looked over and saw that the shock of the sudden noise had led to the rather pompous Lady Pauline hitting her nose with a full soup spoon (that had obviously been on its way to her mouth) and the contents spraying down her nauseatingly lime green gown. What an absolutely terrible shame she wouldn’t be wearing that one again, Yrene thought sarcastically. Several moments later, her attention was diverted to a large bird of prey sawing into the courtyard where they were dining. The bird shifted and a 6ft 5, hulkling fae warrior gave barely a nod in Dorian's direction before striding determinedly toward her. Chaol had stood - something which still brought a smile to her lips - and angled his shoulder in front of her, ready to defend her.

However, something in the eyes of the fae had her placing a firm hand on his arm to get Chaol to stand down. A few theorized that it could be an extension of her magic, but she liked to think that, due to dealing with the sick and their families for so many years, she had acquired the skill of being able to read emotions better than most. To her, as aggressive and physically intimidating as this fae had the potential to be, it was clear he actually was fretting. The pace of his movement came with the urgency of worry, rather than that of violence. "My lady, I must speak with you immediately. Although we have not met in person before, Queen Aelin has only ever spoken of you in the very highest manner. I hope that you would oblige me by going somewhere private so that we might speak. It is for her sake that I am here." Yrene blinked twice. Thankfully, Dorian's voice carried over the now silent courtyard, giving her time to catch up with the flood of words that had just been directed at her.

"It is Vaughan is it not? One of Prince Rowan's companions" 

"Indeed your Highness. I apologise for the nature of my entrance; however, this matter cannot be delayed." 

"I trust Queen Aelin's judgment. If it is urgent we will speak now." Dorian had only just begun to move from his place behind the table when Vaughan spoke again.

"With respect, your Highness, it is a delicate and personal matter and I was sent to consult directly with Lady Westfall."

"Very well.” Dorian conceded, “I will show you inside where you may talk and, perhaps, I could have someone fetch you some water after such a long journey?". Although Yrene could tell he was slightly miffed, she respected how Dorian was ever the epitome of good manners. 

"My thanks." This time Vaughan did bow fully to the king before following him and Yrene into the castle building. Once inside, he efficiently recounted the situation, exactly as Gavriel had informed him, of Aelin's state. From her sharp intakes of breath and slightly raised heart beat, he concluded the healer’s response wouldn't be comforting news. 

"We leave at once. I'll gather the supplies and get Chaol to ready horses. We’ll just have to hope that we’re not too late." With that, Yrene flew from the room. 

Vaughan had only been brought into the court after the war. Nevertheless, he’d heard the tales and knew the kind of friendship that had been formed, especially between the courts of Terrasen and Adarlan. Even so, the healer’s swiftness and the unquestioning way in which she had dropped everything for the foreseeable future to ride to her friends aid shocked him slightly. He had once assumed that it was better to be distanced from the courts of other lands. As a member of the Cadre, he had made sure not to befriend any of the foreign emissaries too closely because he could never be sure that it wouldn’t be their land that Maeve would send him to on his next assignment. Building a friendship only to kill the aquaintance’s friends and neighbours simply wasn’t worth the effort.   
He’d even stayed fairly separate from the other bloodsworn. He knew what Maeve required of Fenrys and Connal. There was nothing he could do to stop it; so, there was no need to stick his nose in and get into trouble. Whitethorn was barely ever in Doranelle. Lorcan was … well … Lorcan. That is to say, not much fun unless you wanted to learn how to break someone's spine in three places. Gavriel was nicer but slightly sickeningly noble. Anyway, Maeve’s control meant he couldn’t really trust any of them. Besides, it was hard to want to spend time with the same people Maeve would force to carry out corporal punishment. But now, seeing the reactions of Yrene and Chaol and Dorian - hell, even the witch’s scent had changed - to the request from the Queen of Terrassen, it had him wondering if they’d been getting it wrong this whole time. When friendship and help transcended state borders, it didn’t make them weaker, it was an extra pillar of support lifting them up to even greater heights. 

"Do you need to sit down? I can have rooms made up for you to stay, if you require them. You've travelled a long way at some speed." 

"Thank you. I will rest for a night, if I may, and then I must return to Terrasen. " He replied stiffly, slightly embarrassed to have been caught off guard by the king. 

"Aelin is a dear friend of mine. As her delegate, I extend all the same privileges to you.” Again, Vaughan nodded his thanks. Dorian persisted “and I hope that you will be honest with me in return." Vaughan inclined his head, eyes narrowing slightly as the king assessed him with an ice blue stare. Under it, he began to feel slightly anxious at what he would be asked next. “Your message: is it from the Queen or about her?” When Vaughan didn’t answer straight away Dorian continued in a graver tone, “I see. And if it were hypothetically possible that my close friend and ally were in some sort of trouble is there anything (other than give Lady Westfall time off to travel) which would, hypothetically, of course, be within my power to do to help?” 

Oh he was clever, this young king. He knew how to play the games of the court. More importantly, Vaughan could tell, he knew how to win. His gratitude and respect grew. “Your fastest horses, Sire”.

“That goes without saying, but what if I could do better than a horse?” The increasing upward slant of Dorian’s eyebrows betrayed his slight amusement at Vaughan’s confusion. “Of course, it’s not really me you’d have to ask, but I could pull a few strings. It wouldn’t be wise to keep the Queen of Terrasen waiting now would it?”


End file.
